


too much to do about many things

by min_i_x



Category: Much Ado About Nothing (1993), Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst, Ballroom Scene, Cute, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, POV, Ruminations, jelly - Freeform, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25235485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/min_i_x/pseuds/min_i_x
Summary: literally my favourite shakespeare play (even tho I've only read this one & Macbeth fully, the others I've read the adaptations;  and hoping to get on to reading As You Like It soon enough) because I seriously can't get enough of Bennetrice - and yes, I did read all the fics on A03 as well as on fanfiction.net. I'm a junkie.also I like writing jelly characters soooo <3 here u go, dk if you'll enjoy it. mostly bc claudio and I don't see eye to eye. skrt. modern english, because if i tried writing in old english i'd be a disgrace to shakespeare. thou doth understand my plight.
Relationships: Beatrice & Hero (Much Ado About Nothing), Beatrice/Benedick (Much Ado About Nothing)
Kudos: 11





	too much to do about many things

On the night of the masquerade ball, Beatrice found herself smiling, laughing and dancing as she moved across the al-fresco ballroom. Despite her disdainfully witty remarks and insults, she was a graceful creature; light as a feather, waltzing around the room quite literally with a bounce in her step. Here in the crepuscular warm light she looked less like a fiery ifrit from the deep depths of Hell and more like a floating angel.

But of course, the blossoming feeling in his chest was a result of his eyes playing tricks on him; Benedick tried to convince himself. Surely, Beatrice hiding her cruel, pernicious and poignant personality under that... angelic... no, demonic smile of hers. He grumbled, thinking about how life would be so much easier, and so much happier if he hadn't been for that "incident" two years ago. 

He sighed, feeling the guilt washing over him again. He'd left her broken, twice as hurt as he was - he was sure of it. Though he wasn't completely to blame, he knew it had changed everything between them. He shook off the feeling quickly before it overwhelmed him, grateful for his mask as he spied a familiar face coming towards the drinks table.

He took a deep breath and gulped down his punch; turning to face the admittedly lovely lady coming towards him. Talking to her like this, in the low light and mask, identity concealed - made everything so much easier, but also a painful reminder of what used to be. 

"Will you not tell me who told you so?" Beatrice asked playfully, asking despite knowing full well who it was.

"No, you shall pardon me." Benedick replied, playing along with her game. At this point however, he wasn't entirely sure if she knew it was him or not. 

"Nor will you not tell me who you are?" she asked, curious to who this rather witty (but of course, not nearly as witty as her) and charming person was.

"Not now," he said almost too quickly, afraid that he would be compelled by the strange feeling to tell her everything and expose himself. The arched an eyebrow at him in suspicion, and he covered it up his nervousness with a sly smile in response.

"That I was disdainful, and that I had my good wit out of the 'Hundred Merry Tales:'-- well this was Signior Benedick that said so," Beatrice said rather thoughtfully, still evaluating the mysterious masked stranger's response to her question. 

There was a hint of melancholy in her voice as she reminisced their old skirmishes. 

"What's he?" Benedick asked. 

He was curious to see what she really thought of him, if she really hated him as much as she acted like she did when they met. 

"I am sure you know him well enough." Beatrice responded dryly, frankly unable to believe there was a man in Don Pedro's fleet who wasn't acquainted with the young Lord of Padua; and if you didn't meet him, you would most definitely have heard of him - both literally, and by reputation. Beatrice was beginning to wonder if this masked person was really Benedick, but she doubted he would be so nice to her. 

"Not I, believe me." he responded, pressing forwards to get her opinion. 

"Did he never make you laugh?" Beatrice asked, rather surprised. 

Though she didn't quite like admitting it, there was a time when he had made her laugh, too - and quite often. How blissful the times once were, she thought. But things have changed.

"I pray you, what is he?" 

Beatrice inhaled, taking time to think about it. Truly, she'd scorned him greatly; but always to people who did know him in some way. What did she think of him? 

What, that he's the most proper man in all of Italy? Charming, quite witty, intelligent, rather sweet... and has a gorgeous smile...

Stop it, Beatrice; she reprimands herself. Maybe she used to think that. But that was a long time ago, and he proved to be so little; so much less of the man she'd thought him to be. He was a player. A joker. Nothing more. Two-faced, selfish and had no time for those who weren't useful to him.

"Why, he is the prince's jester: a very dull fool; only his gift is in devising impossible slanders: none but libertines delight in him; and the commendation is not in his wit, but in his villany; for he both pleases men and angers them, and then they laugh at him and beat him. I am sure he is in the fleet: I would he had boarded me." she replied, but she knew she was being to harsh.

She sighed and brushed it off, assuring herself that too curst is more than curst and that truly, life would be better this way - and it had been, for the past two years. 

"When I know the gentleman, I'll tell him what you say." Benedick forces out, mumbling somberly in response. He was hurt by her words - as much as they spewed insults and spat fire at each other's faces, he didn't think she would be so crude. He sighed: it wasn't like she was to blame, but he did feel rather hopeless. As much as they'd talked, danced and enjoyed each other's company - it would never have happened unmasked.

Perhaps that was what hurt the most - knowing that the only way he'd ever be able to talk to her was on rare occasions like these; and their arguements on normal occasions were all he had. It was enough for him; and better than nothing. If the circumstances ever changed - he shook his head. Better not to get his hopes up.

"Do, do: he'll but break a comparison or two on me; which, peradventure not marked or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and then there's a partridge wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night." 

Beatrice replied slowly, the nostalgia washing over her. Did she reveal too much? She couldn't help but include those unnecessary details - the stupid things she knew about him. Partridge wings were his favourite. 

MUSIC

The sound of the violins broke her train of thought, flushing the sadness out of her. She might as well enjoy the evening. 

"We must follow the leaders," she remarked nonchalantly.

"In every good thing," Benedick responded, relieved that they were changing the subject. The tension began to break and they both smiled.

"Nay, if they lead to any ill, I will leave them at the next turning," Beatrice jested with a grin, taking his outstretched hand and moving towards the dance-floor.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i don't write as much as i used to, but you can find me on @miinzhideout on tumblr if you want.


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